


With a Whimper (A Sexy, Sexy Whimper)

by fluorineandsilver



Category: Elementary (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossover, End of the World, F/M, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 06:06:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluorineandsilver/pseuds/fluorineandsilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the universes that contain Sherlock Holmes are collapsing in on each other. It’s the end of the world. Jim Moriarty is not wearing any pants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With a Whimper (A Sexy, Sexy Whimper)

The best thing about the apocalypse, Jim thinks, is…well, no, okay. The  _best_ thing was meeting his New York counterpart, and discovering that _she_  was a  _blonde_. Okay, the second best thing about the universe collapsing in on itself, is that everyone is just that much more open to the idea of sex. They all know that their time is running down. Everyday the world is getting stranger; two days ago a robotic dinosaur appeared in Times/Trafalgar Square, and last night Jim is absolutely certain he saw a mouse wearing a teeny-tiny deerstalker scurry past his feet. The end is most definitely nigh.

“Do you think this counts as incest?” he asks, deliberately provocative. She smiles, doesn’t say anything. Of course he knows it doesn’t, they don’t share any genes and they weren’t even raised in the same universe. Still, there’s _something_  perverse about fucking yourself. It’s a shame none of the others have been persuaded to join in, but then most of them are ancient. “Maybe masturbation?” he continues. Jamie reaches over to the nightstand to procure the bottle of champagne they’ve been working their way through all evening, and takes a swallow. “Are you ignoring me?” Jim asks. He strokes his fingers down her spine. “I’m starting to think you only want me for my body.”  She hands him the bottle.

“Why don’t you ask me what you really want to ask me?” she replies, as Jim drains the last bubbly dregs.

“What do I really want to ask you?” Jim asks.

“What  _he_  was like,” and oh, she’s right. Jim does want to know. They regard each other for a moment. Her eyes are blue, ringed with a dark grey. He thinks he might be envious.

“Your Sherlock’s not my Sherlock,” he says, his calm tone completely feigned. “No more than I am you.”

“Suit yourself,” she replies, and the way she’s looking at him says ‘I know how much you want him, how long you’ve wanted him, and I can’t believe you’re even  _trying_  to hide it from me.’

“All right all right all right,  _yes of course I want to know_ ,” he shouts, and she giggles and then he giggles, and it’s at that exact moment that Sherlock Holmes (Jim’s Sherlock, or as Jamie calls him, ‘the one with the odd face’) gets home and finds them naked and giggling in his bed.

“I. Genuinely don’t know what to say,” Sherlock says, and the giggles turn into cackles. “Get out. Now.” Jamie gets out of bed, taking the sheet with her. She bends over, whispers in Jim’s ear.

“He was  _wonderful_ ,” she whispers, and then heads for the door.

“And you are…” Sherlock begins, looking her over. She poses cheekily in the doorframe. “…Miss Adler. Another Miss Adler.” Jim laughs, and Sherlock frowns.

“Moriarty, my dear,” Em replies, and then darts in close, gives him a peck on the cheek, and walks away. Sherlock turns to Jim, who’s not making any effort to cover up, now he’s been deprived of the bed-sheet. He watches Sherlock struggle briefly with where to look. If he looks away, he’s dull and prudish, if he doesn’t, he’s playing Jim’s game. Sherlock looks. Jim smiles. Dr. Watson comes in. The short, plain, decidedly not-gorgeous one. Jamie’s shown him her portrait of Joan, it’s another thing he’s jealous of.

“Sherlock, who was- oh. Moriarty’s in your bed,” says Watson.

“Obviously,” Sherlock replies.

“Why is he in your bed? Oh my god, was he having sex with that blonde woman in  _your bed_?”

“Obviously,” Jim replies. He spreads his legs, and that sends Dr. Watson out of the room, shouting obscenities. Sherlock just sighs, turns his eyes to the ceiling while Jim gets his clothes back on.

“What was the point of this?” Sherlock asks. Jim fixes his hair in his phone’s reflection.

“Well, we got lunch in Central Park, and your place was closest,” Jim says. Sherlock scoffs.

“Don’t be ridiculous. From Central Park? Of course it isn’t,” he says.

“It wasn’t yesterday,” Jim corrects him. “It is now.” He hums the chorus to ‘It’s the End of the World as We Know It’ while he tugs on his jacket. A cheap joke, maybe, but that’s his favorite kind. Sherlock follows him out of the flat, down the stairs, making sure he’s really leaving.

At the front door, Jim turns.

“Sherlock?” he asks. Sherlock doesn’t respond. “You planning on dying a virgin?” Jim continues. God, but he loves being obnoxious.

“No,” Sherlock says, his eyes flickering up to the flat above, “I don’t.”

“Oh, yeah? Can I watch?” he asks.

“ _No_. Get out, Jim,” Sherlock says, but he’s smiling.

Yeah, Jim is definitely going to get some of that. Second best thing about the apocalypse.


End file.
